Goth Gal Giggling
by Barbara Leigh
Summary: ANNE DATES NNY. Flame on it!
1. Chapter 1: Rejected

"**Rejected"**

Hello, my name is Cleo, and I'm here with my best friend, well, with what's left of my best friend. In any minute, that homicidal maniac will come down for me. I don't know why I have to share the consequences of my best friend's mistake. This happening began, as far as I can remember, when my best friend had been acting strange for the pass weeks, especially upon that night of the Annual Victorian Ball. This best friend of mine is Anne Gwish. You might remember her as the Party Goth, Morticia of All Seasons, Lady Dark of Darkness, or simply, Bitch.

It was another gloomy night in the dark dreary bar of Thistle Grove, the special nightclub that opens once a week. I sat there alone, waiting for Anne. She must be taking a lot of her time with that new eyelash curler of hers. Every month, she bought bigger ones. Anyway, I stirred my absinthe round and round, wishing those idiot people on the dance floor dissolved like the anise in this liquor. Suddenly, I saw a reflection of a guy standing near on my chalice. I looked up, and upon the sight of his green lupine eyes, my heart pumped with Cupid's poison arrow lodged on it.

"So, Cleo," he said, "Have you already heard of the Victorian Dance this Thursday the Twelfth?"

Ah, the Annual Victorian Dance –the most numinous of all formal gala. Elegant gothicas put on their tiaras of onyx and obsidian, while knights of the dark cavalry wear cuffs of spikes and the most buckled of all boots. In this gathering, all of us pay tribute to the Dark Lord and play the occult practices to welcome Paraskavedekatria, the celebrated Friday the Thirteenth, by midnight. And of course, like some grim fairytale or horrible prom, we must have partners. And for me it was this guy. What's his name? Ramses, I think. Whatever.

From that moment when I said yes, more and more hackneyed "can-I-ask-you-out" statements filled the smoking air of the bar. Last-,minute shoppers. They're like pimpled frogs in a black puddle, flirting and croaking with the rain's melody outside, only to die after they mate. That's what usually happens to frogs. And here comes Anne, already wearing a gown – fur on the shoulder edges, revealing top with fishnet arms, A-line skirt with ruffles but slit in the middle, revealing high-heeled stilettos with gladiator straps that reached her thigh.

At a brief moment, everyone stopped to look at her puffed a smoke. Then, they all resumed their coquetry, and irked, Anne crumpled her cigarette though it bruned her palm. But she was numb anyway for her heart wasn't pumping anymore with the hope that guys would crowd around her, ask her out and she would reject them all. Oh, predictable Anne. She soon saw me with Ramses sitting beside me on our favorite table, vandalized with angry poetry. She stood for awhile, and looked at me as if I was a bitch possessing a hot guy.

She sat down, but seconds ticked slowly with an awkward silence. Ramses broke our piercing gaze, "Hey, Anne. You got a date for the Victorian Ball yet?" Anne pulled another cigarette, and after one smoke, she replied, "I don't get dates. Dates get me." Then, we looked around if indeed guys would go to her and ask her for the ball. But there was none, for now. Feeling we need to be alone as girls, Ramses went away to check on his entourage. "Isn't he the guy who works in that geeky museum?" Anne asked me.

"Yeah, but he's in a band, y'know. Anubis."

"Nice."

"So, do you have any preferences?"

"I have a list," Anne showed a thick scroll, full of names of guys she wanted to date. The first one was already crossed out. It was the bassist of the band Dark Goiter she used to date. I guess, he's still all over that fat chick who played the keyboards. Then, Anne began to get busy. One by one, she went to the guys in the bar and asked them out herself. And one by one, their names were crossed out on the list. I never saw her so pathetic – her make-up was running with tears, she was pleading on her knees, shaking them by their leather jackets, slapping them after; when the guys turned their backs, she screamed in agony, and began to ruin the other girls' make-up and skirts instead.

"I'm far more beautiful than these bitches of shit! Why must they have you when I am here, vacant, open, free, available?!"

Then, the bouncers arrived to drag her out as she clawed them along the way. When she was kicked out, she grabbed their knees and asked them out, too. But they were disgusted with her. I went outside, and comforted Anne, "They're not good enough for you anyway. Let's see who else is in the list." But every name was crossed out, from the hard-core band members to the cool emo smokers. Then, Anne took me by the hand. And throughout that night, we went to all clubs in town. And all guys turned her down. Before they usually go to her and end up being snubbed. Now, it was Anne who went to them and she, too, ended up being snubbed. Oh, the irony!

We soon stopped by a 24/7. The cash register was a total nerd, with thick eyeglasses, braces, hearing aids, acne, inhaler, jumper, the whole dink. And I could not believe my eyes when Anne flirted with him. I dragged her away from utter mortification, and at an aisle full of canned goods, I slapped her to wake her up. But she cried, "Cleo, I'm desperate here! Y'know, I'm always the Bell of every Victorian Ball in the past. I should not break that record by going dateless. My reputation as the Goth Queen is at stake here." She tried to have a smoke, but her lighter refused, thus she threw away all her cigarettes.

"Yeah, well, your majesty must not go beyond the dark and fathomless pit by going out with that abomination in the counter!" But Anne only laughed maniacally. She then suggested, "I know. What if you broke up with Ramses for a while so he'll go out with me?" At that moment, I got sick and tired with my best friend. I left her alone for the rest of the evening. It was 2 am I think.


	2. Chapter 2: Desperate

"**Desperate"**

It's another 2 a.m. in this forgotten sinkhole. Like always, insomnia got the best of Johnny to commit suicide. If I hadn't said "Blood isn't the answer, Johnny. Don't orchestrate your own doom," he would have pulled the trigger and dropped dead on the floor. Instead, he repeated my words, "Blood. Doom. Cherry Doom. Cherry Freezy!" He ran out of the house and went to that familiar 24/7 again. After thirty minutes, I heard his car returned and he got something heavy from the trunk. It was a screaming person with nerd ensemble and extreme acne. Why must Johnny invite the worst of people into the house?

"You said you will turn it on at 2 a.m.," Johnny shouted at the guest while dragging him down to the underground labyrinth. Johnny pinned him on to the wall with clamps, and attached two heavy hooks on each side of the nerd's wide retainers. Johnny turned the wheel, and the hooks stretched out the victim's mouth. He replied lisping, "Look, I'm only new in that store. No one told me anything about the Brainfreezy machine." Johnny only shouted more expletives, "I hate people act and look smart when they're actually ignorant of the essential things in life, especially Brainfreezy!"

"Let's take this logica – argh!" Johnny already turned the wheel more, and the hooks totally pulled the retainer harder like in a tag of war. The victim shrieked in pain as all of his teeth were being pulled out. But they were so intact that in made his face split in half. His know-it-all brain fell on the floor, and Johnny squashed it into paste, "If you like to study so much, let this be a lesson." Then, his hysteric chuckles were interrupted by the cry of his human door bell. He answered the door, and before him was a girl in black. She had no make-up, but she was still a pretty thing. Dumbfounded, Johnny glanced at her.

"I think this belongs to you," she showed him a pocket knife, "You must have dropped it in while trying to get a hold of that squirming dork back in the 24/7. I wonder why you didn't use this on him." Johnny took his pocket knife from the girl's hand with broken nails, and shyly thanked her. "So, are you going to invite me in?" she asked looking interested about the room behind Johnny.

"So, you followed me all the way just to give back this pocket knife?" Johnny asked as he led her through the foyer.

"It's a cool knife. I would've kept it, but the reason why I came here is, to be frank, I want to ask you out for the Annual Victorian Ball. By the looks of you, you might heard of it. All the goths would be there." Then, the girl began to feed her eyes with the fascinating grotesque interiors and paintings in Johnny's house. She felt that this stranger was becoming too good for her. "By the way, my name is Anne. What's yours?"

"Johnny. Call me Nny for short. Desperation is such a cruel human passion. Grabbing something blindly, surrendering to the last resort, the worst resort. It leads to one's mortification and then, the reality would soon come back to the consciousness, the reality that one had made the biggest mistake and would never be erased, unless by going back in time and not giving in to that desperation."

"If I'm really that desperate, how come I didn't ask that cashier out instead?"

"Yes. But I appeared, didn't I? Compared to him, for you, I was a better loser. I know all the guys were taken, and you were rejected along the way. In your deep _need_ to have a date, you'll have anyone, anything, be it a nerd or a _poser_. I know, Anne. In your mind I'm a poser! But I'm good at being one, huh?" Johnny walked faster into the mirror room, and shut the door behind him, leaving the girl alone in the T.V. room. Johnny was gasping for air, as if he was out of breath. He looked at his self in one mirror, and broke it with his fist. "Curse that bitch!" he smirked.

"Why, Nny, I never see you smile like this," I said but he didn't look at me. His eyes were closed, then I continued, "There's a pretty girl there asking you out. She likes you, y'know. And I know, you like it that she invited you."

"Pretty girls are bitches. They all are!"

"But she's not wearing make-up, is she, Nny? Nor is she having a smoke. She doesn't look like those girls who worry about their look. She looks terrible at this point, but she's still pretty, right? Take this as an opportunity for you to be happy again."

"But that would dub me as desperate, too, Nailbunny, desperate to be happy. Besides, she's inviting me to a party full of moaning assholes painted black with tar."

"That sounds like a fun party," the Doughboys appeared, "More blood for the wall." For the first time, the Doughboys agreed with me. At that time, it was to persuade Johnny to accept this girl's invitation. He peeked out the door and saw Anne sitting on the couch. She was talking to the cat Johnny took home one day and gouged its eyes with a spoon. That cat's name was Phoebe. Like me, she became one of the voices whispering through the wall cracks. But for now, she's still weak to get hold of Johnny. I don't trust her for she hangs out with the Doughboys.

"Perfect," Anne said as she patted the cat, "I should be perfect." Her eyes gazed at the bloody wall as if it was miles away. Johnny approached her, and sat on one end of the couch. They stared at each other for awhile, until Johnny asked, "Why do you really need a date?"

"People care too much, Nny, and it sickens me. They get bothered if there's a change in me, like going dateless. Then, they laugh at me for having such an unforgettable flaw. Why do they all care? Why can't they leave me alone and not care if I change?"

"Then, why do _you_ care about what they think?"

"Face it. I'm also a pitiful human. Sometimes, I wish I was numb, someone who doesn't care about anything, not even needs."

Johnny nodded and threw out his pocket knife onto the couch. Anne grabbed it as Johnny smiled at her. She giggled.


	3. Chapter 3: Insecure

"**Insecure"**

Thursday the Twelfth finally arrived. The full moon emerged with its silvery light and accompanied by the dead stars. A dark procession outlined the Carmen Hills in the west of this damned town, and led to the rusty gates of Chateau Briand, the shunned house that became a shadow over the centuries. Goths all over gathered together as a cult of mourning. The men's leather coats flapped like thunder as the cynical breeze failed to compel frets upon the stovepipe hats on their ratted hair. The gems on their eyebrows, nose, mouth, tongue, ears, anywhere, sparkled through the eerie fog, and their heavy boots struck like the hoofs of steeds on the ground with a four-footed trampling.

The women were no worse. Their gowns were so ruffled and ribboned, tinged with scarlet and purple jewels, had skirts widened with metal grid inside and corsets buckled tightly though the ribs. Their hair stood up higher than that of Marie Antoinette, and their make-up turned them into porcelain dolls with blank eye sockets. As for me, I wore a black wig adorned with golden chains and a head-band with a cobra head. My slim gown was full velvet that squeezed me so tightly from my chest to ankles. I adorned it with a belt that cut off my breath from the diaphragm. Lastly, I complimented it with a chiffon cape. And my make-up was inspired by the painting of Nefertiti. I was invited inside the mansion, while the posers had a promenade of their own outside.

I was enjoying another round of absinthe and a symphonic metal song of Ramses's band, until, my best friend finally arrived. But she didn't come out of the car her posies used to drive her around. In fact, her posies were already here before her, and they're at the lawn. She stepped out the car, and first we saw her stilettos, with heels so high that they made her stand on her toes. She wore a bikini armor inside and a fur slim gown outside that extends to two feet on the ground. She had peacock tails on her shoulders and back, a stuffed dead cat around her neck, a long leather coat with bell sleeves and sharp diamond earrings. And that huge eye lash curler of hers did its best work, while her dark eye shadow made her pupil looked white compared to it.

Everyone outsidde wanted to kill her. Then, we saw what she had dragged into the gala as her date – a skinny freak with bug eyes, a dork waiting to get beaten up. And yet, he's like any goth guy in the ball. He wore black combat boots, black leather coat, black pants, black double-tailed shirt, black crucifix pendant, and black gloves. His dark hair was backcombed, and his eyes, those bug eyes, those soulless eyes, shadowed by dark emotions and a thousand sleepless nights. He's really good in pretending he didn't want to be there. The two held hands as they marched through the crowd of deathly fakes. There was a grave-like silence.

Suddenly, the mummers started to murmur. Anne Gwish and especially her guy felt the insults like daggers stabbing their back. Anne no longer could stand with her precarious stilettos. The murmurs became louder. My boyfriend, Ramses, and his entourage who were still kept outside, approached the wimpy stranger, and began to push him around, toss him to and fro. Everyone laughed at the shameful spectacle. Anne Giwsh did it again. She totally set this guy up. Well, that's what I thought at first before seeing her fading out into the shadows. If she's the Bitch I knew, she would have laughed at the stranger and blow smoke at his stupid face. But she didn't. Finally, Ramses held the twig's wobbly head and pushed it down to the ground.

But their laughter disappeared when the stranger got up slowly, and held out a knife. He cut off the limbs of one of Ramses's entourage, and stuffed them onto another one's chest which the stranger sliced open. He beheaded another and shoved it into another guy's anus. Lastly, Ramses was horribly dissected to get his intestines and choked him to death with it. Flight was universal, and in the clamor and panic several fell in a swoon and were dragged away by their madly fleeing companions. It was the night with the most expletives screamed out at the same time. But the gates were already chained and locked for the ceremony. But, the goths inside the mansion, the real goths, calmly stepped outside to confront the psychopath.

To keep my cool image, I had to follow them. The psychopath was about to get more victims, but we applauded for him and the Elder One invited him inside. What he had just done made him into an honorary member. The psychopath happily accepted and left Anne Gwish outside with the posers. As for me, I saw my dead boyfriend up close. I ran to the outhouse that served as the lady's room and vomited violently. After my innards were flushed, I heard Anne went inside, "Slings and arrows! Slings and arrows!" She was talking to someone. I peeked out and she was talking to the stuffed dead cat on her shoulder. To my surprise, the eyeless cat moved by itself and actually talked.

"You failed, Anne, for being the perfect one the society acknowledges you to be. Why didn't you laugh with them, at him? Why didn't you join their ridicule? Why didn't you smoke? Why didn't you dance the same dance everyone else does? This dreary world demands you to do those things. Yet, you were pathetic."

"I stopped caring, Phoebe. I mean, why do they care? Why should I care? As if, my life is ruined."

"But it is, Anne. You see, you started as a goth snob and that becomes your perfectly normal way, and everyone acknowledges it now. But changing it is a mistake, and mistakes are bad for this world could not swallow such blunder. And y'know, Anne, this dreary world, these people, are always watching you, looking for a flaw. Now, they had found one, and this they will remember for the rest of their pointless lives. They will laugh at you forever, haunt you even you hide. You can't turn back in time to change everything. You don't even have amnesia dust to erase the memory of your mistake. But there is one way to stop these witnesses in spilling out, to clean up your pathetic act, to regain your reputation this world ordered."

Then, the cat disappeared like smoke. Anne got something from her ponytailed hair; it was a pocket knife. She pushed the button, and that little knife turned into a long scythe. She ran outside and through a window, I watched her make a massacre and carnage out of those trying-hard mock-ups in the goth scene, worshipping Death but they could not even welcome him with open arms. After a few minutes of glorious gore, the grave-like silence came back. "Hey, Cleo," Anne Gwish said, "God! I need a smoke." I smiled because the Bitch is back. Her date came out of the house, eating a bloody slice of pizza and oblivious of what happened outside. Anne Gwish only said to him, "Let's go some place else, Nny."


	4. Chapter 4: Horrible

**"Horrible"**

The Victorian Ball – Johnny must be enjoying it. I never see him smile like that when he left this house of damnation and drove off with excited swerves to pick up his date. Yet, I could hear the Doughboys sniggering and everything because Phoebe went with Johnny. I had a bad feeling about that cat. I hate cats, even back in that pet store. They think they're more superior than any creature, even human beings. It's true, just ask my literature professor. It was a long night. I could imagine everything and the things to come. I think this will straighten Johnny out, save him from his anguish, rest him in peace at last. Dawn is nearing. It's past Johnny's suicide time, and I'm not fading yet. That's a good thing.

"Phoebe's here!" the doughboys shouted when the eyeless cat crashed in through the window. They welcomed her with sinister grins and hypnotic spirals in their eyes. Phoebe slowly moved up her bowed head from the shadows. To our disgust, her empty eye sockets contained a hundred suffering souls. In front of the moaning wall, she released them and the ghouls left blood traces on the wall when they were sucked through it like a sponge. "I could not believe an insecure bitch could be easily led into a killing frenzy," Phoebe proudly laughed, "I let her think that her perfect self is the bitchy goth she pretends to be. Idiot! Now that she wasn't acting like one in that party, I let her think it's her ultimate indignity because she's not perfect.

"How she cried to disappear! That was perfect….for me to do my job. Whispered through her screaming dog-faced monkey I did, telling the witnesses should disappear instead. Capital! She didn't resist and killed them all. Ha!" Then, her laughter faded, "Too bad it's just a one shot. Still, I won the bet, D-boys. Give me the money!" The three actually bet who would kill more, Anne or Johnny. And through that moment, I sadly realized that the Doughboys only let Johnny in that party because they expected him to kill the guests. Yet, if Phoebe won, that means Johnny's indeed cured, right? I only wish. Then again, I think I'm going to be disappointed because Johnny's home, dragging two females victim by their ankles.

One was definitely his date, Anne, and the other had a shaved head and wore a Nefertiti costume. They were gagged and put in a straight jacket. "I told you it was a one shot," Phoebe told the Doughboys as they watched Nny and the girls disappear in the basement. I sighed while the Doughboys laughed at Phoebe who wasn't proud that her apprentice was going to be killed anyway, especially by Nny. Being part of his consciousness, I think I could recall what drove him into homicide. After the ball, Anne and Cleo ordered Nny to start the car and take them to 24 Dingy's, a nasty place of nasty people Johnny would love to meet and kill after. Upon that snooty command, Nny frowned but darkly obeyed.

They soon reached the idiot bar. The goths weren't there, still there were a lot of horrible people. The three sat down. Johnny moved a little far away from the two girls. He was disgusted and only looked at the menu book."Men, I need a smoke. Shit, I forgot them in that bathroom," Anne said, "Nny, do you have cigarettes? Gotta smoke y'know. Look at everyone. I'm going to be left out." Anne tried to keep the menu away from his hands as so he would only look at her and she would not look at him. But Nny's grip resisted though it was shaking. "I need smoke, Nny!" Anne shouted, "Give me cigarettes!" Nny put down the menu and looked at her with a piercing look.

"I don't smoke…."

"Eew," Anne replied while Cleo snatched a pack of cigarettes from a passerby. Upon the taste of it, the two girls coughed at its aroma. "These aren't my brand," Cleo said. Anne shrugged her shoulders, "As long as we're smoking." She offered a cigarette to Nny, "C'mon, Nny, if you're my date, you have to smoke, or everyone would laugh at me for dating a non-smoking poser like you." Deep down, Nny wanted to grab all the lighted cigarettes and insert them upon Anne's eyeballs. Instead, Nny continued reading the menu. "Nny, you're in a bar," Anne nagged, "You don't have to order and eat here." She tried again to grab the menu, but failed. Then, she gasped, "Oh my God, it's my ex! What the hell he's doing here?"

"I guess, he more preferred the motel down the street than the ball to get all over that fat chick," Cleo teased; Anne hissed at her. The guy passed by their table, then Anne quickly grabbed Nny and kissed him in the lips (_author's note: go vomit out your shit now. i'll be waiting_). The guy said hi, and seeing Anne busy, he walked away ignored and annoyed. Anne and Cleo then laughed out loud while Nny was gasping for air. He wrote his order down on a piece of paper, stick it on a plastic spork, and threw it over the counter and hit a cashier right in the bloody eye.

Anyway, as they were smoking, the two girls began their parade of insults, false judgments, snob talks, valley girl slang and more smoke and flirting cold-hearted eyelashes. In other words, they were bitching about everything they see, unaware of the turmoil building up in Nny's psyche. His order of pie came in. To escape the scene of lameness, Anne and Cleo disappeared into the dance floor. Nny was left on that corner of their table. A group of guys came up to him, but he ignored them and kept on eating his pie. "Hey, bitch!" said the alpha male, "You better be not touching my girl. I'm a member of Dark Goiter, see. I can send people to you, bad people." Then, he was calling Nny with many names with the word fuck inserted, while his entourage laughed.

But Nny kept his head down and ate his pie. "Hey!" the guy shouted again, "Listen to me, you fuckin' ass whore!" He smashed Nny's pie with his fist rapidly. Then, his entourage laughed with him, everybody laughed and pointed, even Anne. In that memory, I saw Phoebe went to Johnny, "You mustn't care, Nny. Don't give a damn. Be numb. Be numb." I know she was trying to let Johnny lose the bet with the Doughboys. But a maelstrom of horrific psychoses merged deep from Nny's veins. He grabbed the pocket knife from Phoebe's tail, the same knife he gave to Anne. "Care?" he said to the cat, "Anne's right. Humans are pitiful because of that mortal imperfectness. Y'know what, I'm also human, so I give a damn!"

He grabbed the bassist's hand and put in his thumb on a mechanical pencil sharpener. I now know why Nny's been carrying that thing around. The guy was screaming. "Oh, c'mon," Nny said, "That's just a tickle compared to the usual things I do." Then, with his own hands, Nny pulled out the guy's Adam's apple, not a plum. Now, with the pocket knife, Nny did his job as the waste lock of the world. Slash, slash, slash, slash, slash, slash, slash, all I could hear in that memory. Red, red, red, blood, blood, blood, all I could see. I could not even imagine it again for you. When everything was clear again on Nny's sight, the only ones left were the dazed Anne and Cleo. "Like I promised, Anne, I behaved in our date," Nny was approaching them, "Tell me I'm a good boy."


	5. Chapter 5: Slaughtered

**"Slaughtered"**

It was insane the way that maniac murdered my best friend. We were both in a straight jacket that cut out our blood circulation. We were dragged inside his ill-gotten house where our eyes widened at the sight of other people decapitated, bones, blood, innards, shit, etc. The sight was a putrid, dripping eidolon of unwholesome revelation. We then reached a room below the abyss. Our hands and ankles were clamped onto a wall with chains rusting with blood, as red as the huge curtain in front of us. "Y'know, Anne," the maniac started to sharpen his tools, "When I waited for five hours for you do your make-up in that house of scary fanatic abominations and knick-knacks, I saw your high school year book. I noticed you were a cheerleader."

Oh dear, God! What an unwholesome revelation! Anne Gwish, a cheerleader? How I wanted to laugh, and yet the horror of getting killed filled me more. It's such a bittersweet feeling, quite mixed up, but oh, I wanted to laugh. "Then, let me go, Nny!" Anne said nervously, "Everyone likes cheerleaders, right? Everyone likes cheerleaders! I can be whatever you like, goth or cheerleader."

"Oh, I like cheerleaders alright. That's why I still stayed with you 'til the end. Yes, they're the kind of people I love…." Then, he pulled a rope and the curtain opened, revealing that we were on a stage and the audience was a cheerleading team, clamped on the chairs and scared that they could not speak. He continued, "People I love to butcher! And if you don't mind, I took the liberty of inviting the present team to watch a veteran cheer and _yell_." Then, the maniac said to the audience, "Okay, girls, let me show some tips on how to be the pretty thing you fuckin' try so much to be."

First, he removed all of Anne's make-up and showed her a mirror. He was evil! How could he do such thing to a woman? Without make-up, we look like the monsters the Earth should hide. Yet, I wanted to laugh at my best friend's abhorrent travesty. I know the cheerleaders also want to laugh at her. But there was empathy there. I could feel the horror Anne was in, the imagination of hellish humiliation. She shrieked and cursed Johnny. She tried to close her eyes to ward off her hideous reflection, but he already took the mirror away. "You don't need to buy expensive make-up, ladies," the maniac said, "Just be creative." Then, he sliced Anne's lips and called the blood "lipstick." For eye-shadow effect he said, he pulled out her eyeballs. "Beautiful!"

"I know you're all conscious of your weight, ladies," he grabbed a circular chainsaw while Anne was screaming with the pain in her eyes, "But you don't have to spend so much money for liposuction. Do it yourself." Then, he turned on the chainsaw that made an abhorrent whirling noise, and he sliced Anne's torso open. Her guts hung out. She was still alive to feel the unbearable pain. I screamed, we all screamed for her whose voice was gone with the sighs of the walls. "But to really impress the guys," the maniac then put suction caps all over Anne. With one pull of a lever, she was dreadfully electrified. "This effect should magnetize your bones and attract more fuckin' people!" Johnny pointed out, "You'll have a shocking personality."

"But if you're really desperate to get attention," the maniac continued and pulled the lever down more. The electrocution was so powerful, at last, Anne exploded; her guts, hair, blood, bone fragments, flesh, everything that's waste now, made the most gruesome fountain, showering the horrified spectators with blood. "Can't take your eyes off her, huh?" Johnny asked the audience, "That means my tips are working." I don't know I'm narrating this in detail, but deep inside, I think it's awesome.

"Who are you talking to?" the maniac just asked me.

"Are you narrating? Why are you mimicking my words? Stop saying what I'm saying! What's this? Words, typed. What's going on here? Chapter 1 Rejected….Chapter 2, Nailbunny's narrating, too. Stop typing my words! What the hell? What the hell, Cleo! How could you narrate with such idiocy? Look at your chapters. They're terrible. No wonder no one's reviewing this thing. It's all about you, never about me. Yeah, you described the goth culture. But who would give a damn for creative writing! You're a bad narrator, an unreliable one, drunk with all the absinthe, leaving out the parts where I should be. I'm the antagonist here! Shit! You portrayed me as a weak stock character."

"I described in detail about your homicidal masterpiece on Anne Gwish," I replied.

"Stop narrating! Yeah, you did describe my work, but you're telling everyone that they should feel sorry about Anne. Fuck! She's not even a good homicidal maniac, killing all those posers in the ball. Fuck again! I killed more inside the mansion. Why did you leaved that part out? Wait, oh, you're not in there at that time. Then, why did this fanfic even chose you to narrate? Yet, I'm thankful it included Nailbunny's side. He has more of a steadfast point of view, getting on my good side. But, you! You're a liar! I noticed it's all about you, it's all about Anne Gwish, leaving out the details of glorious gore, dissatisfying the readers. Don't you put those apostrophes"

Out of childish rage, Johnny scalped my head, cut off my limbs, pulled out my spine, and nailed rusty pins on each nerve. In my excruciating living agony, I was still conscious of what's next. Someone tapped Johnny's shoulder. It was one of the cheerleaders, out of the clutches, covered in blood and had a dark aura. She gave Johnny a knife, "Sorry if I didn't get your permission, but my friends were annoying me while I was enjoying your morbid work of art. They kept on blaming me on their piteous fate. I think they should deserve it." Johnny looked at the audience and the cheerleaders were dead and disembodied.

The goth cheerleader returned back to her seat and clamped herself, "Just a courtesy to a fellow murderer." The eyeless cat appeared on her shoulders. Johnny smiled and got interested. Then again, he threw the knife upwards and it cut the rope of a huge chandelier with spears pointing downwards. It landed on the goth cheerleader who thought she would win her idol's heart. Oh, Great God Osiris, is that you? Are you here to collect my soul now?

(_from nailbunny's point of view_) I guess Johnny is still the homicidal maniac. Just this morning, he killed two goth girls and a whole cheerleading team. Now, I'm watching him paint the Wall with their scented blood and use Phoebe as the paintbrush. "First, it was Jimmy," he murmured, "I hate fans."


End file.
